


Music in My Head (Mini Fic 2)

by MaybeDefinitely404



Series: Music in My Head Universe [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Allusions to Conversion Therapy, Crying, Food, Foster Care, M/M, Other, Panic Attacks, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeDefinitely404/pseuds/MaybeDefinitely404
Summary: Virgil has a flashback and for once, accepts Janus' comfort.
Relationships: Deceit | Janus Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: Music in My Head Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118066
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Music in My Head (Mini Fic 2)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of oneshots taking place after Virgil's foster placement in Janus and Logan home in the Music in My Head Universe. Could be a stand alone but misses some context.
> 
> Word Count: 1.6k

The door handles in their house were made from aluminum.

A tiny, some might say insignificant, fact. They’d been brass when they first moved in, a copper-mix, and Janus had immediately stated that they were changing every knob in the house. Logan couldn’t have cared less, he thought they looked fine, but his (at the time) fiance was so set in the fact that the color was tacky that he eventually conceded. They decided on aluminum replacements. Rather, Janus decided, and Logan allowed himself to be dragged down the aisles of the hardware store as the choices narrowed down. 

The only reason Logan remembered the metal they were made of was because they were so much more expensive than their other similar-colored counterparts, but _absolutely not_ , it had to be _these_ handles and Janus would have it no other way. 

Logan had nearly forgotten the incident, just over two decades later, until they began to ready the house for their new foster son, a child who’d gone through traumatizing electroshock therapy. In the nights before he moved in, Janus and him had been cooking dinner, when Logan quietly spoke up.

“Our door handles are made of aluminum.”

“Yes dear, I remember the hissy fit you threw when I suggested we get new ones.”

“That is not how I remember the situation going down.”

Janus hummed, but a smirk slid onto his face as he focused intently on stirring his pasta. “Why do you bring up the handles?”

“They don’t conduct electricity.”

That had the man setting his wooden spoon down, turning to his husband with a suspicious look. “Is this a science-experiment-gone-wrong that I need to get angry at you about? I told you, no experiments in the house. My hair was patchy for _months_ after-”

“The handles will not produce a static shock, unlike how the copper ones would have. Virgil will not get shocked by them. It was just something I thought of last night. I would understand if he were particularly bothered by such an incident.”

Though he was focusing on his garlic-chopping, Logan could practically see his husband’s face melt into that soft sappy look reserved only for him. Ignoring the heat rushing to his face, he pushed his garlic to the side and grabbed a pepper.

“Logan Sanders, never let anyone tell you you don’t have a heart.” The pasta could rest for a moment, Janus decided, as he looped his arms around his husband’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to his jaw, pleased with the little hum Logan gave in response. “I don’t even know if I would have thought of that.”

—–

Maybe that’s why it was almost the four month-iversary of when Virgil had become their foster son when it happened for the first time.

Logan was out of town on business, a fact Janus was trying not to be bitter about. It wasn’t as if his husband _wanted_ to be gone so often, but the time for adjustment should have been long over and neither of them were adjusted yet. Neither of them wanted to be. They both just wanted Logan to be _home_ , and he needed to be upset with _someone_. 

Janus was silently stewing in his thoughts, slicing halibut into the pieces for fish tacos, when there was a strangled cry and a thud from upstairs. The knife slipped from his hands, and he was already out of the kitchen before it had properly clattered to the ground. He took the stairs two at a time, just reaching the upper landing in time to see Virgil’s door slam shut, a louder choked sob coming from behind it. 

“Virgil?!” He tried not to shout, knocking gingerly on the door. 

The panicked breathing stopped for just a moment, as if Virgil was holding his breath to not be heard, before he released the air in a sound somewhere between another sob and a cough. Judging by the proximity, he was leaning against the door, probably to keep him from just walking in. 

“Virgil, it’s Janus, can you open the door?” 

He wasn’t expecting that first attempt to work, to be perfectly frank. It never had before. It usually took several minutes of convincing to get Virgil to open the door, or at least let himself get worked into a state where he wasn’t aware of them even walking in. The latter was the less pleasant option of the two. 

So he was completely and utterly shocked when, after a few moments of shuffling, the door creaked open just enough that he could see into the dark room, making out Virgil’s form as he shuffled out of the door’s path.

“Hi there,” Janus murmured, closing the door behind him and flicking on the fairy lights along the wall, giving the space a soft, warm glow. Virgil curled into himself further, head almost tucked between his knees. He was still hyperventilating, fingers squeezing into his arms where they were wrapped around his knees. 

The man crouched on the floor in front of him, just opening his mouth to start down the often-trodden path of calming Virgil down from a panic attack, when he spoke. It was quiet, whispered into his hoodie, but it was there.

“Please don’t make me go back, _please_ , Janus, _please don’t make me._ ”

“I would _never_ , kid,” Janus said desperately, reaching up to run his fingers through Virgil’s hair. He leaned into the touch, still choking back sobs. “You’re not going back there.”

Granted, he didn’t entirely know what ‘ _there_ ’ was referring to; the group home, those foster parents, or the god forsaken ‘therapy’, but evidently it was the right thing to say, because Virgil all but lunged into his arms. Today was full of surprises. 

Once Janus was over his brief moment of shock, he ever so gently snaked his arms around Virgil in return, rocking them back and forth.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re safe here. We won’t ever hurt you, kid.”

Virgil continued to cry into his shoulder, hands twisting and grabbing at the back of his shirt like he was terrified he’d be pushed away. The elder kept up his whispered promises, torn between feeling heartbreak for a kid so broken, and elation at finally being regarded as a safe place. This was the first hug he’d ever gotten from Virgil, but the situation bittered the experience. He decided to let the two emotions coexist.

“What brought this on?” He asked when Virgil’s crying turned to hiccups, his death-like grip on his shirt steadily loosening. The younger pulled away reluctantly, scrubbing at his tear stained cheeks and ignoring the question.

“I, uh, I got eyeshadow on your shirt,” He sniffled, glancing between the dark stain and Janus’ face in apprehension. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing that won’t wash out.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, and he took the moment to become bashful, pulling his sweater sleeves over his hands and chewing on his thumb through the fabric. “Sorry for… jumping at you. I didn’t… didn’t mean to.”

“Oh _no_ , physical affection? What _ever_ will I do?” He grinned as Virgil snorted, immediately hiding his face in his sweater paws. “You’re the least touch-y person in this home, you think a little hug would bother me?”

“Less touch-y than Logan?” He asked meekly.

“You should see that man when he’s overworked. He’s like a koala. He made me late for an appointment one time because he literally wouldn’t let me get off the sofa.” That got an actual watery laugh from his foster son, which he counted as a win. “So no, I am not at all bothered by affection. Logan does like to joke that I’m cold blooded and use affection to soak out the warmth of living beings, so beware of that.” Janus winked playfully and pushed himself off the floor, Virgil following suit, albeit a bit shakier. 

“You never answered me.”

“Huh?”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Virgil shied away from the hand Janus offered, so he slid it into his pocket, pointedly walking close enough that his elbow was in grabbing distance should Virgil stumble on his unsteady legs. They made their way downstairs, Janus aiming towards the kitchen so he could finish making dinner, and the younger seemed content to follow him. 

“I was… uhm, reaching up to flick off the lights. In my room. But the switch shocked me. It just kind of… set me off. Reminded me of… you know.”

He did know. All too well. They walked into the kitchen just as a shudder ran up Virgil’s spine and his hands spasmed in their sleeves. His eyes squeezed shut and his breath hitched again. Janus was impressed with the way he was fighting to stay present and not slip into the past, but he knew that fight would be for nothing if he couldn’t find something to distract himself.

“Do you want to help me finish dinner? It’s fish tacos today.”

It took him a longer pause before he forced out, “With coleslaw?”

Janus smiled. “Obviously. I can teach you to make it, if you’d like.”

Virgil nodded, swallowing thickly. 

“Wonderful. Why don’t you go to the bathroom, wash some of that makeup off?”

Apparently talking was becoming too much for the kid, because he darted into the bathroom down the hall without another word, the sink starting seconds later. When he came back, his face was clear of the dark streaked makeup, and he watched Janus for instructions. 

“Did you wash your hands?”

Virgil made a face and then signed _“Of course!”_ , two fingers circling in the air before landing on his other closed fist. Ah, nonverbal it was. Not a problem, never was, so he didn’t acknowledge it. _“I’m not a kid._ ” 

“Alright alright, cool the sass. Grab the cabbage from the fridge?” 

The rest of the meal preparation was filled with the jazz music Janus turned on, much to Virgil’s annoyance, and the man’s instructions. And if Virgil stood a little closer than he usually did, just so that their arms were touching while they cooked, well, Janus wasn’t going to point it out.

But he would definitely gush about it to Logan later. 


End file.
